Generations
by SChimes
Summary: Set a couple of years down the line. Sharon's planned - and Rusty's not-so-planned - adventures in babysitting. Warning: this little piece is pure fluff.


**This story comes in response to a prompt/challenge from adama-roslinlove and Force Unbroken, both of whom wanted to see Sharon in the role of grandmother ;). Thank you both for your prompts - and for your patience!  
**

**Repeating the warning from the synopsis: this is sheer, undiluted fluff, the likes of which I have not attempted before and I'm not sure I know how to execute. Proceed with caution. **

**Generations**

Walking through the front door to the condo, the first thing that Rusty noticed was a colorful blanket draped carelessly across the couch, two throw pillows on the floor, and another blanket half-visible behind one of the armchairs. There was a weird plastic cup on the coffee table, next to a water glass and a half-finished bowl of… something. Something very mushy. Was that even food? Sure, he'd eaten his fair share of indiscriminate mush since starting college two months previous, but this looked substandard even for the freshman dining menu…

In over three years since he'd known Sharon, the living room had never looked this messy. Was she sick or something? The boy felt a sudden pang of worry.

"Sharon…?" He frowned when at first there was no reply. "Sharon! It's me."

"I'll be right with you!" Her voice was coming from somewhere in the bedroom; she didn't _sound_ sick… Rusty walked further into the living room, stepping over a rolled up ball of…wrapping paper? and a wooden train – wait what? A wooden train?!

Finally he heard Sharon's footsteps down the hall and turned around, only to have his jaw drop.

He stared at her wide-eyed, "What is _that_?!"

Sharon's eyebrows rose pointedly. "That, is a human child," she replied calmly, adjusting her grip on the – well, human child, obviously, a squirmy little thing with red cheeks and blonde curls and one fist wrapped securely in Sharon's hair. "I told you that Katie was staying here with her until Saturday, while she's in town for that training seminar."

Rusty stared for another thirty seconds, before his jaw started working again. "That was this week…?" Really?

Sharon rolled her eyes as she plopped the baby on the blanket by the couch. Somehow, two toys magically emerged from her pockets, and she pulled another one from under the coffee table.

At least that explained the mess.

"Rusty, I've told you this about ten times," she hummed with some amusement. "Any surprise you might be feeling now is entirely your fault for never paying attention."

"I pay attention!" he protested immediately. Sharon only gave him a wry sideways glance as she began to stand up again, disentangling her ankle from the edges of the blanket.

From the floor, the baby let out a squeal of protest. She pulled the plastic cup off the coffee table and made a very uncoordinated attempt to drink from it, its nozzle somewhere halfway between her nose and her mouth.

There was another squeal, then she threw one of the plush toys in Rusty's general direction.

"Uh… you know, I can like, stay on campus, if this is a – a bad time..."

Sharon shot him another dry look, while she picked up the bowl of mush from the table. "Your dorm was evacuated for the week because of a burst pipe that fried the electric panels," she reminded him. "Where exactly did you plan on _staying_, on campus?"

The boy cleared his throat. "Uhm… they've got everyone in my dorm in like… a lounge…"

Sharon rolled her eyes. "Take your things to your room," she instructed. "You're not sleeping on tables in a study lounge because you're afraid of a one year-old."

"I'm not afraid!" he protested, trying very hard to avoid the baby's eyes. It was looking _right at him_!

She hummed, lips curling in undisguised amusement, and Rusty crossed his arms and huffed.

"Hey, whatever, I'm not the one who nearly had a heart attack when I heard about her." Sharon's amused smirk turned into a narrow-eyed look of warning; in return, Rusty's own lips curled in satisfaction.

"I don't know what you're referring to," she said composedly, carrying the bowl of mush to the sink.

"_Right_."

* * *

Alright, so she'd been _a little_ surprised at the news.

A year and a half before, her daughter had called around two p.m. on a Thursday – an incredibly unlikely occurrence to begin with, and Sharon had already felt a pang of trepidation picking up.

_'Hey Mom…uhm… how are things…?'_

They'd made small talk for a couple of minutes, Sharon walking over to one of the windows in the murder room, her tone low, a smile on her face as she'd listened to her daughter's voice and answered a lot of inconsequential questions about work and the city and LA summer and Rusty's St. Joe's teachers…

' _– in about a month, but he still has a few final tests by then, plus one or two outstanding requirements…There's still plenty of time, the ceremony isn't until the very end of June. Just a week or so before your tenth reunion, actually… if you have any free time, you could fly down here._'

_'Uhm, yeah, actually… that might … work out.'_

_'That's great, sweetheart. I'm sure plenty of your old classmates will be coming, too; it will be a nice opportunity to catch up. And since you're here, maybe we should take a quick trip to –'_

_'Mom, I'm pregnant.'_

Sharon let out a long sigh as she rinsed the baby food out, before putting the bowl in the dishwasher.

Katie had never been great at breaking news.

Ever.

_'Hi kitty-cat, I thought you were driving to the beach with your fr –'_

_'Mom, my tire exploded.'_

.

_' –and I'm going to be late for dinner, so you and your brother can –'_

_'Mom, do we have a fire extinguisher?'_

.

_'I'm about to go into a meeting, sweetheart, so if it's not urgent –'_

_'Mom, Sister Anna says she wants to expel me."_

Ever.

So when Katie had interrupted her and started to say, 'Mom' in that tone that Sharon knew all too well, a hundred terrifying scenarios had gone through her mind. An injury. Something wrong with her daughter. Something wrong with her son. Had Jack hit them up for money? Had something happened to her parents? Job problems. An accident. Eviction. Identity theft.

_'Mom, I'm pregnant.'_

That had not been one of the scenarios.

All her thoughts had skidded to an abrupt halt.

An eternity later, she'd managed to regain just enough control over her vocal chords to ask, 'What…?' in a muted whisper. She must've misunderstood. She must have. How even…? But – she'd heard what she'd heard. This was happening. No, wait – she must have heard wrong.

_'I'm pregnant, Mom...'_

Her mind had flashed back, then.

The day she'd found out she was pregnant, during a routine LAPD physical. That day in the hospital, when she'd seen Katie for the first time, impossibly small and oddly-shaped and red-faced, a mewling, creased little bundle whose eyes couldn't focus right. Her daughter's first smile. Her first time walking. First day of school. Her first dance performance. The image of her standing in the doorway to her college dorm room, watching Sharon walk away. Laughing. Crying. A child. A woman.

Time had become completely warped.

_'Mom…?'_

Apparently, she'd given her team some mild reason for concern. Not that at that point, Sharon had cared much about – or even been aware of – what she must've looked like from the outside, but clearly she'd not done a fantastic job keeping her shock in check. Rusty had informed her later that they'd thought she might have been having some sort of medical emergency.

Very funny.

_'Geez, Mom… can you say something, please?'_

_Sharon tried, but all that came out was an uncertain gasp. Slowly, she focused on the nearest chair, and somehow made her way over._

_'Uh… are you sitting down for this?'_

_She let out a strangled sort of snort. 'I am _now_.'_

Katie really needed to work on her deliveries.

It had all been sorted out, eventually. Time had resumed. Her heart had started pumping blood to her brain again. She'd regained control of her voice. She'd even managed to blink back most of the sudden tears. And after her conversation with Katie and a cup of tea and a lot of sitting and staring blankly into space, she'd rebuilt enough composure for a brief and (she hoped) dignified explanation to everyone as to what had happened.

Once he'd reassured himself that she wasn't having a heart attack and that no one had died, Rusty hadn't stopped making fun of her about the whole thing.

She glanced at him briefly over her shoulder; her son was keeping a wary eye on the toddler, who seemed equally fascinated by him. Sharon anticipated that soon the baby girl would start trying to make her way over, and she looked forward to Rusty's reaction. Not that she would've ever stooped to _payback_…

The baby clambered to her feet using the edge of the coffee table and took two hesitant steps toward Rusty. The boy scrambled back immediately. Clearly entertained by this, the little girl grinned happily and advanced further, Rusty shot a slightly-panicked look over at Sharon.

This was going to be fun.

* * *

This was _weird_.

"Uh – should she be doing that? Sharon? Sharon, should she like… do this stuff…?"

He was really getting tired of seeing the amused curl to Sharon's lips. Hey, he wasn't an expert, okay? Little kids were… weird. They like, didn't understand things. What were you even supposed to do with them?

"She's learning to walk, Rusty." Sharon was cutting some vegetables into ridiculously small pieces at the counter. "It's normal for her to pull herself up and try to make her way around. Just make sure she isn't near any sharp corners that she could hit if she loses her balance."

"Uh…" How was he supposed to do that? Everything had corners! "Okay uhm… I think you should like, sit back down," he told the baby. "Sit. Back. Down. _Downnnn_…" He pointed to the floor. "There. On the blanket. Sit. Like this." He lowered himself to the floor in a cross-legged position. "See? You do that."

The little girl grinned at him again (she had like, five teeth). Then she let go of the coffee table and launched herself at the couch. Rusty cringed.

"Wait wait!"

But she'd already made it safely to the edge of the couch before he could catch her. At his panicked cry, she looked over, confused.

"Uh…never mind." Well, she was already there, so what was he supposed to do now? "Carry on…"

Behind them, Sharon snickered.

"Hey, why can't I cut the vegetables and you… watch the … kid?" It was weird referring to someone else like that. Like, most people still referred to _him_ as a kid. "Baby. Whatever. I'm like, really good at cutting vegetables," he coaxed.

"Nice try." She pointed toward the couch using a fork. "Eyes on the prize, mister."

Rusty sighed. The little girl was trying to climb onto the couch now. "Is she allowed on the couch?" Wait – that made it sound like she was a pet or something. "I mean… like… is that safe?"

"If you keep an eye on her. Maybe go sit next to her, if she climbs up."

What. "Uh…"

Sharon was smirking again, as she strained some soup into a little cup. "She doesn't bite, Rusty. Well," she amended, humor in her voice, "not very frequently. And she has very small teeth and is up to date on all her shots."

He glared dryly in response, then glanced at the bright orange baby plate that Sharon was working over. "What are you going to feed her, anyway? You've been chopping for like, twenty minutes."

"Chicken soup," she pointed to the weird cup with colored circles all over it, "and chicken and steamed vegetables," she pointed to the plate. "Which is what we're having, too. The soup was already made," she added, knowing that that wasn't Rusty's favorite food. "You're free to skip it."

He cleared his throat. "That's okay…" Apparently, after two months of college food, he'd developed a new appreciation for _anything_ cooked in an actual kitchen. If the soup didn't come in a plastic ramen container, it was great in his book.

The baby let out a sudden series of squeals and babbling, in a decidedly demanding tone. What...? What did she want now? Were those real words? Was he supposed to reply? "Uh –Sharon…?"

"I think someone feels that you're not paying enough attention to her." There was laughter in Sharon's voice. "Why don't you go pick a book from the coffee table and go through it with her? We'll be all set to eat in about fifteen minutes."

Rusty looked at the coffee table, and approached cautiously. The baby was already grinning again, all five teeth and everything.

Great. What was he supposed to do now?

He cleared his throat. "Okay..." There were three or four funnily-shaped kids' books on the table; he picked one at random, holding it up for the toddler to see. "Alright, uh… how about uhm, 'What do we eat'? That's…relevant."

"Moo!" said the little girl.

"Huh? Oh." There was a large cow on the cover. "That's right, uh… 'moo'. That would be the cow." He edged over to the couch and sat in one corner, using an arm to awkwardly help the toddler clamber up as well.

"Be sure to hold her if she tries to stand on the couch," Sharon murmured from the counter, keeping an eye on the two of them. "The cushions are too soft for a solid footing."

"Uhm, right." Luckily the little girl was not trying to stand, and was instead studying a small throw pillow with some fascination. When she let go of it, it rolled off the edge of the couch and to the floor.

Rusty leaned over to pick it up, and handed it back to her. "Here. Okay, uhm…so…'What do we eat'? …By Rory Sanders." Okay, she probably didn't care about the author. He flipped the thick cover, to the first page, which held a large, colorful illustration of a barn. "Er…'we eat food to grow up. People eat food to grow. Animals eat food to grow. You eat food to grow –"

The little girl let go of the pillow again, watching as it rolled off to the floor once more.

Rusty picked it up. "Here you go. Where was I…? Right… everyone eats food to grow. Okay." He flipped to the next page. "This is a cow. …Cows say 'moo'…"

The pillow landed on the floor with a soft thud.

Rusty paused.

The baby looked at him, then at the pillow, then back at him, expectantly.

Slowly, he leaned over, picked it back up, and handed it to her. "Don't drop it again, okay?" She clutched the corners with her fists, tugging on one of the small tassels. "Okay… here, pay attention to this cow thing. Cows say 'moo'. Cows eat – _hey_!"

"Moo!" the little girl said happily.

Then she swung her right arm out, letting the pillow drop to the floor for the fourth time.

And she looked up at him and grinned.

"Great. I'm getting trolled by a one-year-old."

At the counter, Sharon let out a muffled laugh.

* * *

Dinner was another adventure. Sharon had somehow managed to install her granddaughter into some strange contraption that went on top of one of the chairs, and tie a bib around the baby's neck, but even so, five minutes in, there were scattered bits food all over both of them. All over _everything_. The living room table looked like a complete mess; now he understood why Sharon had insisted on using a table cloth. At the rate things were going, she'd still be picking peas from the carpet for the next year. She didn't seem to mind, though; though there were little green fingerprints all over her hands and a trail of pureed carrot on her sleeve, she wouldn't stop smiling, and in turn Rusty couldn't help smiling, himself, because it was nice to see Sharon this happy, even if the whole baby thing was totally scary and alien and weird.

The little girl looked perfectly content chewing on a piece of steamed broccoli, now half-mashed in her curled fist.

"Okay honey, are you going to eat that? Yes? Put it in your mouth all the way." Sharon had gone through a couple of variations on the same theme already, to mixed success. "Let's try something else. Look: you didn't have any of your carrots yet."

"I thought she like… ate things," said Rusty.

"Oh, she does. But now her mother isn't here, so she's… testing. Seeing what she can get away with." The toddler picked up a piece of carrot and more or less threw it in Rusty's general direction. "Lizzy, don't throw your food. Here," Sharon dipped the bright plastic spoon into her own bowl. "How about some more soup? You like this."

The little girl opened her mouth, then closed it around the spoon handle, and looked particularly pleased with herself when Sharon had to wiggle the spoon a little to get it back out. They smiled at each other, and Rusty felt that weird warm happy thing in his stomach again.

Sometimes he really missed being home.

"So uh, why _is_ Katie not around? Wasn't her seminar thing here in LA?"

"It is. But it goes until later at night. She won't be back until ten or so. Sweetheart, you need to swallow that soup, not spit it back out." She smiled as she wiped a trail of soup from the baby's chin. "Go on. Swallow. There you go. Okay – ready for more? Oh, you want to try holding the spoon?"

Rusty continued to observe the proceedings with a mixture of wariness and fascination. "Uh… she can use a spoon?" The answer was pretty obviously 'no'. Sure, the kid was smart, but like... utensils were obviously way above her skill level.

"She'll learn," said Sharon, unconcerned with the fact that her granddaughter was holding the spoon by the wrong end, her chubby fingers dipped in the small quantity of soup that was still on it. She tried to put the whole thing in her mouth, and seemed surprised that it didn't work. "Alright… how about we grip it by the handle this time? No? Try the sippy cup, then. There's soup in that, too."

"Sippy," said the little girl. Or at least that's what Rusty _thought_ she'd said. And then she said a few other things, of which he only made out 'goo boo day' before giving up. Sharon seemed to have some supernatural ability to decipher the babbling, though.

"Do you seriously understand what she's saying?"

Sharon smiled, amused. "I'm mostly guessing. She does know some words, and sometimes you can tell from the things she's pointing at – see? Sippy cup. Spoon. Oh – you want to try another carrot?" She rotated the plate a little, so the toddler could reach the carrots better. "But it's not the end of the world if you get it wrong. She's just practicing how to talk, and looking for feedback. Lizzy, we _eat_ the carrots," she reiterated for her granddaughter's benefit, "we don't throw them at people. Rusty doesn't like to have food thrown at him. He'll get sad and leave."

The boy gave her a wry smirk. "Really?"

She hummed, "Would you _like_ to be pelted with vegetables for the remainder of this meal?"

"No thank you." He took another piece of chicken, and tried to chew really slowly, because obviously Sharon wasn't getting a lot of eating done and maybe she'd want company for a proper dinner later. As things were, she was mostly picking things off her granddaughter's plate, which seemed a good strategy to get the little girl to try some vegetable or other.

"Awa!" Lizzy demanded a few times, and again Sharon demonstrated some magical language skills determining that that meant 'water'. She produced another sippy cup, and Rusty smirked as the toddler proceeded to spend about a hundred years completely focused on drinking what must've been maybe four sips of water.

Okay, the kid was pretty cute. Even cuter in person than in all those pictures that Sharon insisted to forward him even though Katie put him on the recipient list to begin with. (He'd told Sharon that about a hundred times, and obviously she knew how email worked, but for some reason she still kept doing it. He didn't mind so much, though. It was nice seeing stuff from her in his inbox.)

"Nana," said the little girl, pointing to a peeled banana on another plate.

She'd grown a lot since he'd seen her, last December. Well – she'd only been a few weeks old, then. She was definitely bigger now. More active. And she like… did things. More like a real person.

It was _weird_.

" – hold up, let's cut you a smaller piece… there you go. Okay. Can you say 'banana'?"

"Nana!"

"_Ba_-nana."

"Ba-wa!"

"Hmm. I've heard worse." Sharon smiled, and grabbed the napkin again to wipe some mashed banana off her granddaughter's forehead. Unclear how it had gotten there.

The little girl made an uncoordinated grab for the napkin, managing to smear some banana on Sharon's sleeve, too.

"Okay young lady, we're going to get those hands cleaned now. Where are you hands? Give me your hands. There you go." Still smiling, Sharon wiped most of the goo off one of the baby's hands. "What about the other one? Do you have another hand? No? How about this one, here?"

Lizzy let out an entertained giggle as Sharon wiped the napkin between her chubby fingers.

Rusty couldn't help staring, a little. Okay, so the kid was cute. And Sharon was… well, she was… the whole thing was just…

He wasn't sorry that he hadn't gone back to campus, after all.

At least, not until about twenty minutes or so after they were done eating, when his nose started identifying the beginnings of a serious problem in the baby's general vicinity, and then Rusty shot one panicked, pleading look at Sharon and prepared himself to run for the hills again.

* * *

Rusty had wisely made himself scarce around bath time – actually, he'd beaten a hasty retreat to his room around the time that Lizzy had required a diaper change, and hadn't been heard from since. Sharon suspected that he was waiting for her to let him know that it was safe to come out of his room again, and that all traces of dangerous substances had been removed and the area sterilized.

The whole situation was entertaining her to no end.

For his first prolonged contact with a baby, he was actually doing pretty well; he probably wasn't aware of it, but he'd definitely won the little girl over. And sure, having him come home that Thursday evening had been entirely unplanned, and the condo was going to get a little crowded, but Sharon didn't mind one bit. She'd just spent one of the more fun evenings she'd had in a while; sleeping arrangements and everything else could be worked out.

"Let's get you changed into your jammies," she told her granddaughter, and, adjusting the fluffy bath towel one around the toddler again, picked her up and carried her over to the bedroom. "Ooh, look at _that_. Are those _Elmo_ jammies?"

"Mo," Lizzy babbled, grabbing the leg of the footie pajamas.

Getting her into the thing took a little longer than expected, and Sharon had to admit that she was sorely out of practice. But what she lacked in dexterity she had to make up for in patience, and after a long adventure involving misplaced sleeves and tangled limbs, she finally managed to get the baby dressed for sleeping. Victory.

Then she might've spent a little too long just staring at the little girl, until Lizzy started to squirm again, and her face scrunched up into an expression of displeasure.

"Alright. Let's get you your milk," said Sharon, and picked her up again, smiling at the feel of her granddaughter's warm little body against hers.

On the way, she stopped to knock at Rusty's door. "It's safe to come out," she called in an amused voice, and was rewarded a few moments later by his head poking out, wearing his 'I don't know what you're talking about' expression.

"I was uh, you know, doing some work. Nine a.m. class tomorrow." He sniffed the air experimentally in the little girl's direction, and Sharon smirked again, with a knowing hum.

"Come on. You can keep an eye on her while I warm up her bottle."

Rusty's expression took on that slightly horrified look again when she pulled the milk baby bottle from the fridge. "Is _that_ –"

"Yes."

He grimaced.

It was about eight p.m. by the time everything was done, and Lizzy was growing increasingly unhappy. Rusty looked about ready to start crying, himself, clearly not equipped to deal with a fussing one year-old at bedtime. He looked relieved when Sharon finally walked back over, bottle in one hand, and picked the little girl back up.

"Okay, how about we say goodnight to Rusty, hm? Can you say goodnight?" The toddler let out a grumpy yelp, and tangled her fingers in Sharon's hair again. "Mm. I'd say it's certainly time for bed."

Rusty cleared his throat. "Uh… goodnight?"

Lizzy mumbled something into Sharon's shoulder, but when they'd arrived at the bedroom door she looked around again, and made a tentative sort of wave with her hand.

Sharon smiled again. "Good. Are you telling Rusty goodnight?" Another wave, and some slightly less unhappy babbling. "Alright. I'll see you in a little bit," she told the boy, and carried her granddaughter into the bedroom.

* * *

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand just as she was closing the door; Katie was informing her that the seminar was almost over, and she'd skip the dinner to come home. Sharon thought for a moment, then texted back, _Go to dinner. We're doing great here_. This was a transition time in her daughter's life, when she needed all the career help she could get. Networking could turn out useful later on.

The little girl was already doing her best to squirm out of the pak'n play. Katie had had a fair amount of trouble getting her to sleep the night before – in unfamiliar surroundings and not having her own cot, and over-excited after a full day, Lizzy had had to be coaxed for a good couple of hours before she'd finally gone to sleep. Tonight, Sharon hoped it would be easier; she was out of practice at _this_, too.

She'd hoped that the blanket and the favorite stuffed toy would help – when they didn't, she tried low-volume soothing music and the milk bottle again, but the toddler wouldn't be persuaded. "Your mommy wasn't this stubborn," she murmured with a smile; for all her drama from age seven on, Katie had been an easy baby. Ricky had been the fussy one. "Oh, you're a little unhappy tonight, aren't you?"

When fifteen minutes of coaxing yielded no results, and her granddaughter's scowl was growing grumpier by the minute – tears threatened to make an appearance soon – Sharon decided that discipline was for parents, and she reached into the playard, smiling when Lizzy's hands immediately reached up, little fingers curling around her sweater. She lifted the toddler out, laughing a little at the way the little girl's face rubbed tiredly against her shoulder.

"Okay, just this once," she said in a soft voice, and, grabbing the bottle with her free hand, made her way back over to the bed. "Let's see if you like this better, hm?"

She moved the pillows around in the right configuration, and lay her granddaughter down on the bed; then she settled herself next to the baby in a half-sitting position, turned on one side. The room was quiet and the light was dim, only a sliver coming from the hallway, and whatever city lights streamed in through the window. She hadn't pulled the curtains. In the near-darkness, she could see the glint of Lizzy's eyes as they gazed up at her. It was… something else. Staggering. Incredible.

She still couldn't believe it, sometimes, that her little girl had grown up enough to have a baby of her own. Times like this, when she was alone with Lizzy and her mind wandered a little, it was easy to look down at the toddler and think that somehow time had never passed at all, that she was still young and this was Katie looking up at her, and the intervening years had been just some sort of surreal daydream. But of course they hadn't, and this baby wasn't Katie – or at least not _all_ Katie, even though it was all too easy to conjure that picture.

God. The passage of time... it really knocked her for a loop, sometimes.

The little girl's hands were clutching the milk bottle, now, her breath hitching a little each time she swallowed. Sharon smiled as she listened to the familiar sound in the stillness of the room. Her fingers curled gently in her granddaughter's fine hair, in peaceful, slow strokes, and she took a deep breath, enjoying the faint notes of powder and baby shampoo that still lingered in the air.

* * *

**Thank you all for reading! This was all of the fluff! Uhm, I'm just going to wander back into familiar waters now and write some more angsty things ... ;)  
**


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